


A Million Different Ways

by fhottfitzgerald



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:55:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24446182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhottfitzgerald/pseuds/fhottfitzgerald
Summary: After a particularly hard talk with Sam, Dean comes to realize that there are a million different ways to show someone that you care.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s)





	A Million Different Ways

**Author's Note:**

> This was an absolutely shameless fix-it one shot that I wrote back in 2014, after the premiere of 09x13. I just couldn't help it! I had to something nice for my poor boy.  
> The title I pulled from a sourceless quote that I saw floating around my dashboard on Tumblr back then:
> 
> There’s like a million different ways to say, "I love you":  
> "Put your seat belt on."  
> "Watch your step."  
> "Get some rest."  
> You've just gotta listen.

“Okay.” Sam started, toying with the cuff of his sleeve and taking a seat across from his older brother. “Just once be honest with me, you didn’t save me for me. You did it for you.”  
“What are you talking about?” Dean asked, face stern and his tone, though soft, on guard and defensive.  
“I was ready to die, I was ready. I should have died. But you, you didn’t want to be alone.” Dean seemed taken aback by Sam’s words, but that didn’t dull the sharp edge of their continuance. “That’s what this boils down to, you can’t stand the thought of being alone.”  
Dean shook his head, muttering a rejection of the statement as he left the table, taking steps away from his little brother.  
Alessandra, who had been talking to Dean just before Sam walked in, slowly sunk backwards into her place against the wall as if hoping to melt into the paint, taking silent swigs from her bottle of beer ever so often. It always felt wrong and uncomfortable to her, hearing the brothers fight like this, and since Gadreel had been cast out of Sam’s body the fighting was at a high point that she’d never before seen.  
“I’ll give you this much, you are certainly willing to do the sacrificing, as long as you’re not the one being hurt.”  
Sam could see that his brother was wounded by this statement, despite his best façade of indifference, but he didn’t so much as make an attempt retract it, nor did his conviction in its truth waiver. The blonde’s eyebrows rose from shock, hardly able to believe some of the things her friend was saying.  
“Sam—“ She started, but Dean jumped in.  
“Alright, you want to be honest? If the situation was reversed, and I was dying, you’d do the same thing.” Dean shot back confidently after a moment’s pause.  
Sam’s gaze fell, only the slightest pang of guilt apparent on his features at the words that followed. “No Dean, I wouldn’t. Same circumstances, I wouldn’t.”  
Dean exhaled sharply as if the breath were knocked from his lungs, eyes wide and searching the room for a second as he struggled to process the information. No words followed, though. He had nothing to say—he could think of nothing. So, for that moment, the Winchesters stayed silent and still, foreign in their own company.  
Sam was the first to break the brief silence.  
“I’m gonna get to bed.”  
He left the table, and Dean’s saddened eyes followed behind him, as if he were waiting for the apology that he could tell wasn’t coming. His lips, which had been parted in a breathless gasp from the emotional punch to the gut, finally closed once Sam was out of sight, and his face fell from shock to suppressed pain.

When he finally accepted that Sam wouldn’t be reappearing Dean’s gaze left the doorway, and he brushed past Alessandra as he left the room, eyes glued to the floor. Left in a haze until his arm knocked against her hand, she quickly turned to follow on his heels.

He threw himself down onto the couch, almost spilling what was left of his whiskey on the rocks—which he immediately finished off in only one swallow. Out of his peripheral vision he saw her approaching him slowly, though he refused to acknowledge the company just yet. He didn’t want to talk about this, and he didn’t want her sympathy. For the night, at least, he only wanted to drink it away.

As green eyes studied him carefully, she came to a stop a couple of yards off. She knew he was ignoring her. It was his default reaction when he was upset—ignore anyone in sight, don’t talk about it, bottle it up. Not a healthy default, she often scolded, but his nonetheless. With a sigh she made a move towards the end table perched on the opposite end of the couch from her companion, taking up the half-empty bottle of whiskey that occupied it before she moved to sit beside him. She had the bottle extended between them as if it were a peace offering, despite herself not being the one who’d caused him any harm.

His green eyes, glossed over in a thin veil of unshed tears, moved to her slowly. She took this as a cue that she was welcome to stay, as he’d have certainly rejected her company by then otherwise. With a small smile she sat her beer on the coffee table, freeing up her hand to remove the lid of the bottle of liquor. She poured a refill into the cup Dean was grasping before pouring a quick shot into her own mouth straight from the bottle.  
“Thanks, Alice.”  
“No problem.”

The two went without speaking for a while, Dean focusing on his whiskey while Alessandra worked on the remainder of her beer as she contemplated what she could possibly say to him. Nothing that would matter half as much as anything Sam said, she was sure, but she’d always believed that saying something that could help even a little was always better than saying nothing at all. So, when the last drops of beer had slid down her throat, she said the first thing that came to her mind.  
“I would.”  
Dean looked to the woman at his side for the second time since she’d appeared there, brows furrowed at the simple statement. “You would what?”  
“Do the same thing, if you were dying.”  
“Look, I—“  
“I don’t care if you would for me or not. Hell, what are the odds of this being a situation that repeats itself anyways, right?” She said, letting out a soft laugh. “I just, I figured I should mention that I’d do it for you, anyways.”  
He sighed, preparing to say one thing as his lips insisted on another. “I don’t wanna talk about it, alright?”  
“I know you don’t, you never do. I just thought—“  
“I mean it, that’s enough!” He insisted, voice raised, as his eyes locked with hers.

As the blonde to his right lifted her hands in front of herself, a sign of playful but sincere surrender, he began to feel bad for snapping at her. None of this was her fault, and it wasn’t fair to take it out on her as if she were to blame. He was just so hurt and so confused that he didn’t truthfully know what to do at the moment.  
It was when she rose to leave the room that he finally tried to vocalize this.  
“I’m sorry, Alice. There’s no point barking at you, you didn’t do anything. I didn’t mean to.”  
“I know you didn’t.” She said with a warm smile, patting him on the back. “Get some rest, Dean.”  
“Yeah, alright.”  
“I mean it, I’ll knock you out manually if you don’t.”  
“I know.” He replied, managing a smirk.  
“Good night.”  
“Good night.”

Once he heard the door to her room close he gulped down his drink greedily and began to start up his laptop, but stopped midway through the task. With a shake of his head he flipped it shut once more, dragging his body from the couch with a sigh. She was right, he wasn’t getting enough sleep.

After a long, warm shower he slipped into his pajama pants and a white T-shirt, then sauntered off to his bedroom for the rest that his friend had prescribed him.

Lying down slowly he let out a contented sigh. This mattress had never felt more comfortable, and he realized he was a great deal more tired than he’d been letting Sam, Alessandra, or even himself believe. It wasn’t long at all before he found his eyelids growing heavy. He looked around the room one last time, the dull light of his lamp bathing his surroundings in a soft glow. He could see the weapons he’d decorated with, along with the small handful of photos that were scattered around his desk.

There was one there of him with his mother, the first photo he’d ever put up, which always made him think of the memories he had with her. One from his birthday last year, which Alice had insisted on taking, of him blowing out a candle she’d stuck into a slice of pie with Sam laughing in the background. He shook his head and let his eyes drift to the newest addition—one taken on the blonde’s birthday, just a few months prior. She’d asked the bartender to take a photo of the three of them on her phone while they were out. Dean had wanted no part in this, or at least, he'd put on a good show of pretending that he hadn't, but she slung her arms around his neck and pulled him back into the shot regardless. He smiled at the recollection before sliding his eyes shut, nestling his face into his pillow drowsily. It was then, in a sleepy fog, that the words he’d meant to say back in the lounge finally came out.

“I’d do it for you, too, Alice.”


End file.
